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These Years – Mohit Tanga

Never have I lived before
in a city without mountains.
A city with no backdrop, to lean against.
A city with all and the celestial rising at the horizon.
A city with rivers having no ebb
wading through on low tides guided by
The distant shiny stars on no moon nights.

Its a difficult life.
A city with layers
added; with no thought; till no end.
A city with ever searching eyes
for a break or a boundary; not in sight.
A city with no vantage
any higher than the dwelling
to gaze, to know your place.
Lost; in self-similarity and self-organised criticality
Never ending reflections in parallel mirrors.

 

How  do I rise?
How do I soar?

Never do I want to live again
in a city without mountains.

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